Stand In the Rain
by SomeStrangeDay
Summary: "Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated."...These are the thoughts of eight different people when Harry "dies" in the seventh book.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Ok, so I know that in the story it wasn't raining, but play along.**

Hermione:

_I'm going to kill you_, she thought as she finally looked up from Harry's body and looked towards Voldemort instead. Fury lashed through her body, burning her and every other emotion in her body until the fury screaming inside of her was the only thing left. The fury consumed her, and for the first time she allowed herself to truly **feel** it. She **wanted** that fury, knew that the fury was only natural. Anyone would feel such fury after a monster killed someone as pure and compassionate as Harry.

It started raining then, and she was glad to feel it because it cooled down her burning skin. Vaguely, she recalled Dean Thomas telling her that it was supposed to rain while they were still in the Room of Requirement, but quickly tossed the thought aside. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things. Now was the time to get even. And she would get even. Because that was **her** Harry up there, dead. That was **her** little brother. That was **her** protector. That was **her **best friend. He. Was. **Hers**. And for killing him, Voldemort would pay dearly.

Ron:

_YOU BASTARD!_ his mind screamed at Voldemort the second he looked up from Harry's body and towards Voldemort instead. He could feel his face heating, and knew it would be beet red by now. He tried in vain to calm himself, telling himself that he couldn't let himself die by being careless. He had to think this through. For Harry. For Harry's sacrifice. Because he knew that Harry had sacrificed himself; Harry would always sacrifice himself. He was **Harry**. It was what he **did**. It seemed to be his mission in life.

He was selfless, and kind, and after all he had been through had managed to stay **innocent**. Harry was all of the things he knew he could never be. Hell, **no one** could ever be Harry's equal when it came to just **loving** others. Because when you take into consideration that he saved **Malfoy**, of all people, his altruism was just so **obvious**. It's who he **was**. And for killing him, Voldemort had to die. _**Die**_, he thought as the sky started poured rain on all of their heads.

Ginny:

_No. No. No. No_, she thought, the single word playing over and over in her head as she stared at his body. He simply couldn't be dead. But he was. She couldn't see his chest moving. She couldn't see the light in his eyes, so similar to Dumbledore's even if he would never know it himself. She couldn't see his smile. She couldn't see any **life** in him at all. And it scared the hell out of her. Because now she would never again feel his arms around her. She would never again feel his lips ghost across her neck, lovingly teasing her. She would never again feel his warm, quidditch calloused hand in hers. She would never again hear him say her name. He was gone, and it was the end.

Only, it **wasn't** the end because as long as that **bastard** was alive she would continue to fight. Really, it was all she'd ever known: you have to fight to survive. She'd had to fight her brothers when she was young. She had to fight the diary her first year at Hogwarts. She'd had to fight her own jealousy **(AN: over everyone being all over Harry)** in her second and third year. She'd had to fight to not fall under Umbridge, **and** she'd had to fight the Death Eaters in fourth year. She'd had to fight for Harry's attention without anyone actually noticing, and then she'd had to fight off all of the other girls who'd wanted him last year. And then this year she'd had to fight to not crumble under the pressure of the Carrows, and Harry being gone, and helping conduct the DA. So yes, she knew how to fight. And for losing Harry, she would fight Voldemort until he was gone. _Or at least die trying_, she thought as she pushed forward to fight the Death Eaters and the falling rain.

Neville:

_He wasn't supposed to die_, he thinks as he stares at Harry's body. Anyone else could die, and it wouldn't be as harsh as Harry dying. Because Harry is their Hope. Harry is their Light. Harry is their Savior. Harry is **everything** good. And he wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to come back to Hogwarts next year. He was supposed to become an Auror like he had dreamed. He was supposed to live a happy life. He was supposed to have children. He was supposed to grow old with Ron and Hermione with Ginny at his side. But now he can't. Now, he's dead.

And it's all that bastard's fault. **He **killed him. Voldemort. The man he was afraid of. But not now. No, now he was too angry to be afraid. There was no room for fear. There was no **time** for fear. Now, he had a job to do. And it was a job only he could do. Because even though Ron and Hermione were well aware that the snake had to die, he was well aware of the fact that right now they were far too focused on their revenge on Voldemort. So he had to do it. _For Harry_, he thought as he ran into the oncoming rain.

Luna:

_You're going to die,_ she thought calmly. She almost shocked herself by thinking it, but deep down she could feel the anger. The burning desire to hurt those who've hurt your loved ones. _Her loved ones_, she thought vaguely, still refusing to look at poor Harry's body. She would have smiled at the thought had the moment not been so saddening. Because he **was** her loved one, or he had been. He had been there. He had befriended her when hardly anyone else would. He had **saved** her.

And as it started raining, she allowed herself to cry. He was her **friend.** And now he was dead. She figured that was reason enough for her to cry, and she could vaguely hear a gnargle agree with her. It was this that startled her out of her thoughts as she wondered what on earth they were doing here when there was no mistletoe in sight. She didn't think on this long though until she was dragged back into her thoughts of Harry. Her first true friend. Her mentor. Her savior. The Wizarding World's last hope. And she knew, in that moment, that she would fight. Not for her father. Not for the Wizarding World. Not for any of her other friends. Not even for herself. No, this would all be for Harry.

McGonagall:

_He can't be dead_. _He can't be dead. He. Can't. Be. Dead_, she thought, but she knew he was as she stared at his lifeless body. Of course he was dead. She had known he would die. She had known. Dumbledore had told her. But somehow, she hadn't really comprehended it then. It hadn't made sense to her. She hadn't even realized just how much it would mean to her if he **did **die. But she should have realized it would be this heart wrenching. He was, after all, her favorite student. Really, everyone who had him said that he was their favorite student, except perhaps Sybil Trelawney and Severus. Well, maybe even them. But really, you couldn't help but to have a favorite student when it came to him. He was just so **compelling**. He **radiated** youth, and talent, and power, and **love**. He was **outstanding. **So if he was her favorite student, who could really blame her.

She looked up then as she felt the first raindrop hit her face, followed by another, and then another. She remembered seeing him outside past curfew on multiple nights, dancing in the rain. She had never had the heart to deduct points from him, not when she so rarely saw him as happy as he was at those times. So she had always just cast a disillusionment charm on him that would eventually wear off, leave a towel for him just inside the Entrance Hall doors, and watch him from her office. And it was for that boy, that carefree boy, that she would fight. It was for the peace he should have had that she would fight.

Draco:

_The __**Chosen One**__ is dead? Dead? No!_ he thought, staring at the lifeless body. He was hiding in the a virtually unused hall in the castle, but there was still a window facing the lake, and it wasn't so far up in the castle that he couldn't make out the people below. And that included Potter. Who he could see **very** well. In fact, Potter seemed to be the only thing that was registering in his mind because it was him that had saved him only a few hours ago. Twice. Even when the Weasel had protested. Even when, to be quite frank, there were more important things that he could be doing.

He reached his hand out the window as the rain started to fall, trying to find any physical evidence that this really was happening. The rain pelted his hand, seeming to protest this newest development as much as everyone else who had the courage to fight was protesting it. And protest it they were. Because no one who was truly worth anything wished Potter to be dead. And that included himself. Even if Potter hadn't saved him he wouldn't wish him dead because truly all he'd ever wanted from Potter was friendship. He wanted Potter to be there for **him**. He wanted Potter to be **his** friend. And he would fight for what could have been. He would fight for the eleven year old that was still inside him, silently begging Potter for his friendship.

Lily:

_Oh, my poor baby_, she thought, staring down at the lank body of her only child. Of course, she knew he wasn't dead, but seeing him just **laying** there was painful. He was her pride and joy, her baby, her everything. It didn't matter to her that he only had three proper memories. It didn't matter to her that one of those memories wasn't even truly her, or that one of the memories was of her dying moments, and the other of his. That didn't matter. Because even if he didn't know it, she had always been watching him.

The tears started coming then, and at the same time she could see them beginning to fall on her sweet baby down on earth. She cried harder at that, and she couldn't help thinking the terribly selfish thought that she wished he had died so that she could be with him again. But then she looked over at James and Sirius and Remus, and knew that, even though she wished he was here with her, she was glad that he lived. Not only because her baby just **had** to live, but because she had who she needed up here. She had James and Siri and Remy to help her get through things, and she knew that everyone who cared for him down on earth needed **him** to help them get through things. Because they truly cared for him, even if they could never care for him quite as much as she did. And she knew that for that very reason, because they **did **care and they **did** love him, they would fight. For him. For her baby.


End file.
